


Tell Me What You Want

by juniordreamer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boss/Employee Relationship, Dirty Talk, F/M, Maybe - Freeform, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Rey is an adult yall, Single Father Kylo Ren, Soft Ben Solo, Unresolved Emotional Tension, is this podcaster kylo in an alternate timeline?, like a fully grown adult woman, nanny rey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22565668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniordreamer/pseuds/juniordreamer
Summary: A companion piece to my twitter fic 'Wanted' in which single father Ben and nanny Rey are convinced they're just friends despite literally all of the evidence to the contrary.  Can be read as a standalone as well.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 40
Kudos: 381





	Tell Me What You Want

**Author's Note:**

> To my 'Wanted' readers: how we feeling yall?!
> 
> To new readers: Welcome!! For context, the events of this oneshot occur after a summer of build up, unresolved sexual tension, and LIES between single father Ben and nanny/artist Rey. If you'd like to catch up, I'll link the twitter fic below, but for immediate context: Rey has been tasked with watching Ben's son Obi overnight while he's away on business. Rey has just sent a (maybe unintentionally???) flirty text and picture to Ben about the size of his bed (her words: "massive"), to which now Ben must respond. 
> 
> Twit Fic Link: [click here](https://twitter.com/juniordreamer2/status/1222350214129950720?s=20)

_It just isn’t how I pictured fitting in it._

_*It just isn’t how I pictured fitting in it.*_

Ben reads the words on the screen for a fourth time. And then a fifth. He watches her try to take it back, to play it off in that way she’s so good at. He can picture her so clearly in his mind—curled up in his bed, fingers flying as she tries to undo what she’s just done. 

_I mean_

_Not that I’ve pictured it_

_It’s just_

_You know_

_It’s well_

_Big_

He could give her an out. Laugh it off. Chalk it up to a misplaced joke between friends, an accidental innuendo. But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? Another lie added to the top of what is by now a very tall throne. Structurally sound at first glance, but made of feather and glass.

How much higher can they build, he wonders. How much taller can they stretch it, before it comes crumbling down?

His phone buzzes again and this time it’s just his name. Just _Ben?_ And it makes his heart ache a little, thinking about Rey alone in his bed, wondering if she’s made a mistake. Wondering if he’s left her.

His hands are damp as he palms the screen, scrolling a few times between the picture of her legs—her _gorgeous_ fucking legs tangled up in his sheets—and the words she’s allowed to slip from her fingers.

_It just isn’t how I pictured fitting in it._

He tries out a few different replies. Types them out and stares at them before erasing them entirely. Stupid things like **_I’m here_** and **_Big enough for two_** and **_You’re killing me Rey._** But none of them feel right. None of them are what he actually wants to say. 

He stares at the screen for a second longer, thinking. And maybe it’s the distance. Or maybe it’s Hux’s voice rolling around in his head, telling him just to _tell her already for Christ's sake,_ but suddenly he knows what he has to do. Exactly what he has to say. He types the words carefully, one by one. Stares at the them for a fraction of a second before sending them off into the ether.

**_I’ve pictured it._ **

There’s a terrible moment where his words seem to hang, suspended in the air in such sharp contrast it makes him want to look away from the glaring light of his phone. But then she’s typing, stopping and starting more times than he can count before her response comes through—a question, thank Christ, not a rejection.

And then, before he's even made a conscious choice, he’s spilling all of his secrets to her.

\- - -

Rey nearly jumps off the bed when her phone starts to vibrate in her hand. Ben’s contact information fills up the screen, that picture he sent with his hand—his stupid, _perfect_ hand—covering his face illuminating the darkness of his bedroom. 

Adrenaline courses through her veins—a culmination of nerves and anxiety and a general sense of _what the fuck is going on_ followed by the even more alarming anticipation of _what the fuck is about to happen._

She could let it ring. Pretend she’s asleep. Pretend she’s drunk. Pretend she has no conscious memory of ever discovering that yes, Ben—her friend and technical boss—has pictured what she tastes like and what she sounds like and does she really want to know what he’s thinking now?

But she told him yes. She urged him on. Because in the end, she wants to know. Needs to hear it from him, for once and for all.

Her fingers slide to accept the call as she brings the phone to her ear. “Ben?”

Her voice comes out too breathy, too unsure and she’d hate it if not for the fact that he seems breathless too. His is different though. Deep and ragged and _rough_ like it’s all he can do just to keep breathing. Like his lungs are tortured for air.

“I’m thinking about running my hands over your body,” he says and it’s enough to make her gasp, the abruptness of his words. The intensity. The way his voice dips so much lower than she’s ever heard it and yet still soft. Gentle. “Thinking about picking you up and sliding you against me,” he continues, forging ahead with all the delicacy of a bull, but it makes her body sing. To know he doesn’t seem afraid to hurt her. To not be treated like some fragile thing. “Cupping your ass in my hands, pulling up your shirt to lick your tits, suck on your nipples until they’re shiny and hard.”

She can picture it so easily, the way his hands would glide over her skin. So smooth and strong and _huge_ , like the rest of him. How they'd swallow her up, his hands on her breasts. On her ribcage. On her ass.

“What else?” she gasps.

“I’m picturing your mouth,” he rumbles on, “how I’d cover it with mine. Kiss you hard and slow and wet. How pretty your lips are. How red they’d get from me kissing them.” There’s a pause where he breathes long and deep, hesitating, and then—“Fuck, there are so many times I wanted to kiss you, Rey. You have no idea.”

She doesn’t know why this is the admission that surprises her the most, but it is. The fact that this isn’t just a _now_ thing, but something he’s wanted. Maybe even something he’s _been_ wanting. 

“When?” she pushes. “Tell me when.”

“That night at the bar,” he starts. “The other day at the hospital. Every day in between, every day after.”

His voice is intoxicating, his words slipping through the phone to slide against her skin, warming her blood and bringing it to the surface until every part of her is rosy and warm. And still she wants more.

“What else?”

“I’ve pictured you in my bed more times than I can count. Your skin against my sheets. How I’d strip you down, touch every part of you with my hands, taste every part on my tongue.”

Rey’s hand trails between her legs as he talks, dips beneath her underwear to swirl through her heat. Just once. Just enough to feel the evidence of how wet his words have made her. 

Her fingers bump on her clit as she pulls them back out, dragging a gasp from her throat. It sounds loud to her ears, though it’s barely a whisper of sound. It’s enough to make Ben pause though, his breath once again coming alive in her ear.

“What are you doing, Rey?” he asks, rough and demanding, though she hears the trepidation too. The disbelief. “Rey,” he says again when she can’t find the words to answer. “Tell me.”

She swallows, nerves licking at her belly as her cunt clenches down, desperate and aching.

“I—I have my hand between my legs,” she whimpers.

There’s a sharp intake of breath and then a low grumbled _Fuck_ that makes her nipples go hard.

“Is your hand moving?” he asks.

“No,” she answers honestly, her hand frozen on her mound. 

There’s silence for a moment. Then a swallow. Then a breath.

“Move it.”

“Ben, I—” she hesitates, suddenly afraid and unsure. To listen is one thing, to actively participate in—whatever this is, whatever it is they’re doing—that’s another thing entirely. Something neither of them can go back from.

“Please,” he nearly begs, the word cracking at the end. And she understands then, that he's desperate too. For her or this or all of it.

So she does what she’s told, sliding her fingers back through her folds, gathering up moisture to drag across her clit, moving in small, even circles. She sets a slow pace, one that has her hips arching off the bed to meet her hand, already eager for more, _faster._

She hears him shifting from his end of the line, a quiet moan escaping her lips as she imagines his thighs parting as he listens to her, his hand moving to fist his cock.

“How—” he tries, stops, starts again, “how does it feel?”

Another swirl of her clit and she’s biting her lip to keep from crying out. “So good. So fucking good.”

“Good girl,” he purrs and her pussy _throbs_ from the praise.

“I wish—” she tries, breath catching as she reaches lower to press a finger inside herself. “I wish it was your hand.”

There’s the sound of skin sliding on skin, fast and rough, and Ben groans in her ear.

“Fuck sweetheart, you have no idea. I would make you feel so good. Lick you until you cry. Slide you onto my cock and fuck you slow and sweet.”

Rey adds another finger at his words, her other hand moving beneath her shirt to pinch at her nipples, so hard and swollen.

“I want that,” she whispers, a confession that feels just on the edge of too much, but she can’t hold it back any longer. Not with his voice in her ear and his scent on the sheets all around her. “I want you, Ben.” 

“You do?” He asks, the words tinged with disbelief.

She nearly laughs but it gets caught on a moan when she slides a second finger in. “Yes Ben, I’ve wanted it for so long.”

His breath escapes in a rush, his relief nearly a tangible thing. “Fuck Rey, can you come for me? Can you slide those little fingers in your cunt the way I would if I was there? Can you rub yourself until you come? Please, can you do that for me sweetheart?”

Rey nods as her fingers start to swirl faster, harder. “I can do it. I’m so close, Ben.”

A harsh cry escapes her throat—too loud, she knows, but unable to contain it as her fingers dip inside, the heel of her hand making torturous contact with her clit.

“Shhh,” Ben chides sweetly. “I need you to be quiet for me, sweetheart. Just this once.”

She nods her head and covers her mouth with her palm, which is ridiculous because he can’t actually see her, but when her next moan comes out quiet and stifled, she figures he gets the idea.

“Good,” he hums. “So good for me.”

“Ben,” she whispers back, the only word she can seem to call up in her current state. But it must be what he wants to hear because a wild groan comes through the phone, quickly followed by the sound of skin slapping skin.

She wishes she could see it. Wishes she could watch him fuck his hand while he thinks of her. See how he might do it rough and slow, swiping his palm across the head to gather the precum that might drip from him there and oh god is she saying this out loud? She must be because he’s telling her to keep going, not to stop, how he wishes it was _her_ hand wrapped around him so tight. Her little hand pumping him long and hard.

“Oh god, oh fuck Ben I’m—,” she starts, but it’s lost in a whimper as her fingers move and her back arches and that thing, that wave she’s been riding comes so close to cresting she’ll die if it doesn’t crash soon.

“That’s it baby,” he urges her on. “Come for me, Rey. I want to hear it, _fuck_ I need to hear it.”

And it’s all the encouragement she needs, her body bowing off the bed as her orgasm hits, clouding her senses until all that she hears, the only thing that _exists_ in the world for her is Ben’s voice, telling her she’s good. Telling her she’s perfect. Telling her she’s _everything_ as he finds his release too _._

\- - -

It’s quiet in the aftermath. Just the traffic that echoes up from the street below and Rey’s gentle pants, soft and sweet in his ear.

The grin Ben wears on his face must look ridiculous—the way it turns up his cheeks, revealing all of his stupid, pointy teeth. He’s almost glad Rey isn’t there to see it. But then, no. He isn’t glad at all. He’d much prefer to be able to pull her body to him. To kiss her lips and wipe her hair from her face and lick her fingers clean. 

He goes to tell her this, to tell her everything else he maybe should have said before they got here, to this particular point in time, but her breath evens out after a moment, soon followed by a soft snore.

_She snores._ The realization brings another ridiculous grin to his face as he wonders what else he might not know about Rey Niima. What else he’ll have a chance to discover now that they’ve finally found a way to be honest about what they are.

He’ll dream about it, he decides. And in the morning, when he flies home to her and Obi, he’ll start unraveling every inch of the gorgeous, miracle of a woman that is Rey. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr (juniordreamer) and twitter (juniordreamer2)!


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